


rebel rebel

by Icej



Series: Sharing Tongues [4]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Clan Culture, Clan life, Elders, Gen, Rituals, WindClan (Warriors), clan meeting, rebellious apprentice, wordbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 04:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icej/pseuds/Icej
Summary: The leader of Windclan ponders on the behavior of a rebellious apprentice.





	rebel rebel

Throughout his life, Harestar had been given the honor of raising several apprentices. He had cherished the time spent teaching these young cats, every one of whom had become fine Windclan warriors. With each youngling, he had developed a particular bond that was not wholly unlike the bond uniting a queen and her kits. 

Indeed, all clan cats could trace their ancestry not only through their mothers, but through the long lines that extended from mentor to apprentice and connected them to warriors past. Considering these lineages often helped one gain insight into a cat’s character and abilities. 

Harestar liked to think that there were different skills he had imparted to every one of his apprentices. He had taught them how to be light on their feet, how to spring over gorse and run across the moor; and then he had taught them how to speak to the clan, how to honor elders and reassure kits. He had shown them how to thank ancestors and praise them with traditional hymns. 

He was sometimes surprised to see which aspects of his personality had been unknowingly adopted by a young cat and passed on. In Boulderclaw, Harestar saw quiet competence. Boulderclaw was the clan deputy, the protector. He had passed on his strength to his own apprentices, the patient Nettlefur and the indefatigable Mudpaw. 

In Sandclaw, Harestar could see the ghost of his first apprentice, the brave Brightstorm. She had been a bundle of life and joy, difficult to contain and to command, leaving Harestep with his paws full. Ultimately, he had not known how to teach her the difference between courage and foolishness. She had crossed that line one too many times, dying in battle at the Riverclan border. Sandclaw was as quick to unsheathe his claws as Brightstorm had been, and this Harestar quietly mourned as the result of his own failings as a mentor. The leader was grateful that Sandclaw’s apprentice, Tornpelt, had come to understand the price of war. 

But the lineage that needed consideration at the moment was the lineage that seemed to bear Harestar’s rebelliousness. 

Of course, most Windclan warriors would sooner choke on gorse than describe their venerated leader as “rebellious.”

Harestar, however, was convinced that he bore a rebellious streak. This trait manifested itself in various ways. He liked to secretly gather the kits of the clan to play a prank on the apprentices. He would sometimes saddle their anxious medicine-cat with a bemused young warrior so that she may rest. And he would direct subtle wordplays at elders during council meetings, assured that his stern seniors would not understand the jokes. 

It was most unfortunate that his most rebellious apprentice had not taken to subtlety and discreetness. Morningheart was dedicated, single-minded, and spoke her mind without fear. She had a strong sense of right and wrong and did not let clan hierarchies stand in the way of what she believed. When fielding questions from warriors, Harestar was often challenged by Morningheart’s sharp tongue. However, age and experience had tempered her mind and given Morningheart the wisdom to pick her battles. This wisdom had not yet been passed on to the young Daffodilpaw.

"It's not fair!" cried the little golden cat as she jumped to her paws, stalking to the circle formed by the council. 

Many things took circular shapes in Windclan. A thick barrier of gorse protected their round hollow. The moor was like an ellipse stretching from the smooth disc of the lake. All the clan territories could be seen as forming a ring around the great waters. Cats slept together in a circle to keep warm, and the medicine-cat approached the sacred in a reverent, circumambulating path. Every night, senior warriors and elders gathered in a circle to hold council with the leader and deputy. To be welcomed within the group was an honor. Only those inside the ring formed by the most respected members of the clan were allowed to speak. Though other clanmates were expected to attend meetings, they sat on the periphery of the camp and stayed silent. 

“I don’t see why Cloudpaw should be punished,” spat Daffodilpaw, tail lashing and ears flattened. “He couldn’t have known the border was there—he couldn’t see it!” 

Harestar allowed himself a small moment to marvel at her impertinence. To interrupt the clan leader as he spoke was disrespectful; to contradict the clan leader as he gave his final judgment on a matter was shameful. 

The friend she believed to be defending was cowering in the shadows behind her. Harestar had removed his sunning privileges and assigned him to care for kits, elders, and tired warriors for half a moon. He would have required him to fetch water for the clan as well, but Cloudpaw was blind. It would be unsafe to send him out on the long treck between the lake and the camp alone, and that several times a night. 

“Riverclan hadn’t renewed their scent markers in days—“

“Shut up!” spat Lightfoot. The gaunt elder stood and cuffed the small cat over the ears. “Have you no shame? Insolent little rat!"

Daffodilpaw yelped, scrabbling backward. Her eyes darted around the clan, settling on a point outside the circle. She seemed to remember her place—her eyes widened—and pressed herself to the ground, trembling.

“You have spoken out of turn, young Daffodilpaw,” said Harestar. He gave her a moment to still her tail and force her fur flat, but she was ultimately unable to master herself. “Where is your mentor?”

He swept his eyes over the silvered pelts of his clanmates, searching for the sharp features of Morningheart. A heartbeat passed, and the warrior slid out from the shadows of a gorse bush, keeping her ears flat against her skull and her tail low. She was still recovering from the battle that Cloudpaw had unwittingly provoked. A long red line ran across her flank, coated with flaking poultice. 

The clan watched her as she came forward, their many eyes unblinking. 

“Morningheart,” hissed Lightfoot. “Of course, it should not be expected of you to teach the manners which you are sorely lacking.”

The warrior held her tongue. She crouched outside the circle, behind the broad shoulders of Boulderclaw, and bent her head to the dusty earth. Her short grey fur lay flat, and her expression was impassible, but as Harestar watched, her tail flicked once. The small movement seemed to express all of her fury. Morningheart would doubtless have her wayward apprentice chew stinging nettle for quite a few days. It was a favored punishment for those who had yet to learn to be careful with their words.

Though he did not wish the sting of nettle on anyone, Harestar was glad to have found someone to whom could entrust water-fetching duty.

“Morningheart,” called the leader, nodding at the warrior when she raised her head. “It is sometimes challenging to instill a proper sense of respect in an apprentice. Youth may lead a young cat to foolishness. In those instances, it is the role of seniors to remind a young cat of their place in the clan.”

The grey queen nodded brusquely. Harestar was satisfied.

“Daffodilpaw. The privilege to speak at council meetings must be earned and is not bestowed upon impudent apprentices. For you to learn this lesson, all your sunning and sleeping privileges are hereby removed. You will also fetch water for your clan mates until the next Gathering, and you will work alongside Cloudpaw as he performs the tasks he has been assigned to.”

Harestar had no doubt that the punishment for both apprentices was justified. Cloudpaw may be blind, but it was youthful imprudence that had led him to stray across the border and into the claws of a Riverclan patrol. He needed to learn caution. A similar lesson would not go amiss for Daffodilpaw. 

“You must understand that although the punishment you have been given is not meant to be pleasant, caring for clanmates is a necessary duty. I hope that through this toil, you will learn to respect the hard work through which your seniors earned their right to speak at this council meeting.” 

Harestar paused for effect.

The eyes of the clan were fixed on the ground at his paws, their ears pricked, their whiskers trembling. Not a kit peeped. Ah, how he loved dramatic pauses. 

Merciful of the trembling Daffodilpaw, he decided to finish the reprimand and conclude the meeting. “You will not be a full member of Windclan before you learn to value effort,” he said in his best stern voice.

Harestar adjourned the council meeting and padded away from the hollow, allowing himself a short moment to purr once he was out of earshot. Cloudpaw and Daffodilpaw had been severely disciplined, and he had no doubt that their mentors would find ways to make the punishment even harsher. Still, the apprentices had gained a tale to repeat at Gatherings. Perhaps the young Daffodilpaw would learn the value of picking her battles. 

Harestar hoped she retained her insubordinate streak.

Rebelliousness was good medicine against the old codges on the council.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of "lines/lineages" is inspired by Simple Steps, a work by Mirror and Image.


End file.
